


Elegy to April

by reynydays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After the battle of Hogwarts, Angst, Ginny is bi, Luna and Ginny were definitely a thing but it’s subtle, Multi, and very angry sad and angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15273138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynydays/pseuds/reynydays
Summary: In the present, Ginny is (mostly) at peace with her brother’s death. But when she visits the graveyard where Fred is buried, old memories come back to haunt her.





	Elegy to April

**Author's Note:**

> I love Book Ginny, and especially her relationship with Fred and George.There’s almost nothing about how she felt after losing Fred in the books, so I thought examining how she dealt with that grief might be fun! ( I have kind of a weird definition of fun). I’m also a big fan of both Harry and Ginny and Ginny and Luna, so I’ve tried to include both here, although Ginny/Luna is more implied than explicit. Hope you guys enjoy it!!

Even through the thick leather sole of her boots, the ground felt soft and spongy beneath Ginny’s feet. It must’ve rained last night. April showers bring May flowers. In her mind, Ginny heard the old saying in her mother’s voice. She walked further into the graveyard, her shoes sinking into the grass, her mind sinking into memories.

*****

_“I’m very glad that you picked a graveyard and not a cemetery.” Luna’s voice was, as always, gentle and a little distant._

_“What’s the difference?” Ginny asked flatly. Anger, grief, and guilt all roiled within her, burning in her mind and sharpening her tone._

_“Can’t you feel it?” Luna stretched her arms out to her sides and flipped her palms upwards. She tilted her head up too, dreamily scanning the sheep-like clouds above them before letting her eyes fall closed._

_“No, I can’t.” Ginny answered shortly, but it was a lie. She could feel it, in the way that the headstones tilted towards each other like friends sharing a secret, the daffodils bobbing their heads to the tune of the wind. She could sense the dead beneath her, in a way that made her feel less alone. This was no silent cemetery, with neat crosses in a row. This was a graveyard. It whispered to her, too softly to understand._

_Luna opened her eyes and turned her gaze on Ginny. The multicolored bracelets on her wrists rattled as she reached her hands out. Feeling suddenly exhausted and empty, Ginny took her hands. They were dry, and very warm._

*****

“Shit!” Ginny swore as she stumbled into a tree, glaring at the twisted root beneath her feet, her normally quick reflexes dulled by memories. The past seemed to mix more with the present here, and old thoughts and feelings easily flowed and bobbed through her mind. She stepped away from the tree and wiped her hands briskly on her jeans. Recollecting herself, Ginny set out towards a sunny patch across the graveyard.

*****

_It had been a grim group that picked the burial plot. Arthur, exhaustion and grief blurring the deep-set laugh lines around his mouth. Bill, serious and sad. George, face blank and flat, even more than it had been on the day of the battle. And her, Ginny, face set in hard lines, anger forcing her blood into a cold boil. She didn’t have a good explanation for her anger, and that made it worse. She’d found herself lashing out at everyone lately: her mother, Harry, her brothers. Well, the brothers she had left._

_In some way, she knew that this was her mind’s way of coping, that the harsh words she kept flinging out were expressions of pain, not fury. But that knowledge didn’t help her. She couldn’t control her anger, and that made her more angry._

_“How does this seem, kids? Here, in the sun?” Arthur asked._

_“It’s good, Dad. I think he would’ve liked it here.” Bill said, wistful._

_“It doesn’t matter.” Ginny said sharply. She hadn’t wanted to do this. She’d told herself that she wouldn’t pick fights, that she’d control her anger, but her good intentions crumpled beneath the weight of her rage._

_“Ginny.” Her father’s tone was sharp too._

_“She’s right. It doesn’t matter.” George said in a monotone. “Nothing matters.” It should’ve come off as melodramatic, but the pain in his voice was too real. Guilt rolled over Ginny in a forceful wave, and it was suddenly too much. She turned on her heel and fast-walked out of the graveyard, towards the soft green hills in the distance._

_Alone, she sat on the hillside, dew slowly soaking the seat of her black jeans. A little voice inside her head told her that she’d feel better if she cried. Fine then, she answered. Cry, damn it. Her eyes stayed dry._

_A few minutes later, she heard someone coming up the hill behind her. Bill, by the sound of it. When he neared the crest, she stood up to face him, fists clenched, completely unsure of what she wanted to do. Wordlessly, he put his arms around her._

_Ever since the battle, Ginny had avoided hugs and turned condolences aside with tight smile. Rather than giving her solace, the shared grief of the rest of her family and friends made her want to get as far away as possible. Her grief felt like something that belonged only to her, something deeply personal. How could anyone make that feel lighter? How could sharing her emotions make her feel anything other than exposed?_

_But now, in Bill’s arms, she understood a little. It was no life-changing moment. It didn’t make her alright again. She didn’t even cry. But the anger that had filled her, a coat of armor and a crushing weight, bled away a little bit._

*****

That anger was faded now, and a gentler sadness had taken its place. Twenty years later, she often went days or weeks without once thinking of Fred. When he did cross her mind, though, her grief was still deep and real. There are some things that you never get over, wounds that heal but leave deep scars. Ginny’s scars, though less famous than her husband’s, still pained her. 

*****

_James had tried to make Albus eat an Acid Pop. Where he’d even found it, Ginny had no idea. She and Harry had done their duty as parents, chastising firmly, hands on hips, but right afterwards they’d laughed their heads off together in the hall._

_“You know, Ron once told me that Fred and George did the exact same thing to him. I guess being a wanker to your little brothers runs in the family.” Harry had said, his mouth twisted into a grin. Ginny’s mouth twisted too, her laughter suddenly curdling. Harry, distracted by Lily, didn’t notice. Sorrow hit her, but she didn’t fight it, not this time. Memories, happy ones, sad ones, hilarious, heartbreaking, magical, mundane. Fred was a part of her life, a part of her, and he always would be._

_“Mum, I think you should make James eat an Acid Pop.” Albus’ green eyes were flashing in indignation._

_“I’ll do it, Mum, watch me.” James lifted the candy up to his lips._

_“James Sirius Potter, you will do no such thing.”_

*****

Ginny laughed softly at the memory. She hadn’t been quick enough, and James had singed a small welt on the tip of his tongue. Nothing dittany couldn’t fix. She smiled sadly. James would’ve loved his Uncle Fred. Only twelve, and yet Ginny had a strong suspicion that the Weasley twins would soon have a competitor for best pranksters ever at Hogwarts. 

The headstone was newer than many of the others in the graveyard, not yet smudged and blurred by time. The stone was grey and unassuming, but when the sun hit it, bits of twinkling mica lit up. George had picked the stone, and the words. Beneath the engraved name and date, both stiff and formal, he had carved something in with his wand.

“Mischief Managed.”

*****

_George finished the carving and stepped back. All remained frozen, tension rippling across the air. A chaffinch called, its voice liquid, strong, and beautiful. Another moment, hanging, suspended. And then Luna’s voice rang out._

_“I think that’s lovely, George. And now, perhaps the rest of us can leave for tea.” There was nothing callous in her tone, just the calm acknowledgement that the living had to eat. Slowly, like dreamers awakening, everyone began to move once more. Ginny stayed rooted to the ground, the hem of her robes wicking up water from a puddle at her feet. Move, she thought. Move! Part of her wanted to go, join her family and friends, grieve, begin to heal. But another part wanted to sink into the ground, grow leaves and scaly protective bark, cease to feel. Hermione, speaking behind her, interrupted her thoughts._

_“Come on, Mrs. Weasley, you should really eat something.” She said gently._

_“Oh, don’t fret dear, I’m not hungry.” Molly responded, sounding distracted._

_“And you haven’t been for the past week. That’s why you should eat.” Hermione’s tone, still gentle, sharpened slightly. Ginny felt herself sharpen too. This was her mother, she should be helping and comforting her, not Hermione. Anger, her ever-present friend and foe, reared up again. About to turn and confront Hermione, a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She whirled around, immediately ready to attack this new target. Harry’s green eyes, intense as ever but kind now, stared down into her own._

_“Ginny.” His voice was soft. Harry, who she loved with a fire that sometimes scared her. Harry, who had lost so much too. Harry, who understood. The rage, coldly boiling in her veins, subsided some._

_“Harry.” Her own voice came out far more broken than she’d intended. She wasn’t ready to let him help her. Not quite yet. She turned, his hand slipping off her shoulder, and headed towards the crown of the hill._

_When she reached the top, she gazed down into the dip beneath her, a new wind whirling her crimson hair around her eyes and mouth, both pinched tight with residual anger and some other emotion she couldn’t yet let loose. Below her, a figure in black lay spread-eagled on the slope. A bright assortment of bracelets lined her wrists and arms. Luna angled her head to look at Ginny, her smile undiminished by being upside down._

_“ Hullo Ginny. Funerals are so dull with everyone in all black, don’t you think? A little bit of color is good for the soul.” Ginny, pulled irresistibly forward by the connection she’d always shared with Luna, the warrior to the dreamer, made her way down the slope. Getting to her feet, bracelets clacking softly, Luna gave her another sunny smile._

_“I’m very glad you picked a graveyard and not a cemetery.”_

*****

Ginny waved her wand, and bright orange flowers burst out of it and enthusiastically draped themselves across Fred’s headstone. She reached out and touched one of them, and it gave her a soft “Quack.” 

“April Fools, Fred. And happy birthday.”

*****

_Luna’s hands were dry, and very warm. Ginny squeezed them tightly, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. And then, with a sigh, she let go._

_“I’m sorry, Luna.” Her voice quavered in a way she normally would’ve hated._

_“It’s alright, Ginny. I understand.” Luna’s voice, normally vague and quiet, was clear and direct. She held Ginny’s gaze for a moment longer, and then smiled, the dreamy quality back in her eyes. She headed back over the hill to join the others, humming a mellow tune and swinging the hem of her robes over the dew-soaked grass. Ginny waited, letting the calm of the hills flow into her. With a sudden decisiveness, she walked over the crest, down, down, down, past Fred’s grave, towards her family, towards her friends, towards Harry._

_Towards her new life, and away from the anger that had nearly consumed her._


End file.
